Peace Amidst War
by Skitty
Summary: Buffy and Angel go on a short vacation from their lives. NOTE: This is a little close to NC17, and it does deal in passing with rape, but I think it's age appropriate. If you don't, please note me and I will remove it.


Peace Amidst War  
  
Disclaimer: Fine, ruin my dreams. They're not mine  
  
Distribution: Sure, have it. Just e-mail me or link this site, kay?  
  
Rating: R for some mild sexual content  
  
AN/Spoilers: mid season 7/4, should I continue it? Let me know!  
  
Summary: B/A goodness that will never happen on the show!  
  
Story:  
  
Angel -  
  
Meet me in our spot. Pack for a week. And don't try to argue with me Mister. I'm taking a break and you're taking it with me.  
  
Love,  
  
Buffy  
  
Her handwriting was messier than usual, as if she'd wanted to scrawl the short message and mail it before she could be stopped. It seemed odd to me that she would want to stop in what were most likely the two fiercest battles of either of our lives (and in my case that says a lot) and 'take a break,' but I trusted Buffy.  
  
So I went. I defied Jasmine to meet Buffy. She was waiting for me in the lounge of the cabin her family owned. The cabin we'd visited a million times when our lives were too Hellish on the Hellmouth, the cabin where I met her the year before. On seeing her, I knew why she'd needed a break.  
  
Her body was so much harder, more of a weapon than a young girl (woman. WO- MAN. She gets mad when you call her a girl.). There were cuts and bruises marring every inch of her, and she had her shirt halfway up, revealing a bandaged cut that had to be deep because it had bled through the bandaging. "Got stabbed," she said by way of explanation. She wasn't looking at me, but she had obviously sensed my presence. "Forgot to pack extra bandages."  
  
Immediately my bag was on the floor and I was kneeling at her side. "I could go back..." I didn't want to. Everything in me was against going back to the hotel and being forced into staying. But if I had to I would go back into the very flames of Hell to help her with a paper cut. She told me once that she both loved and hated that part of me.  
  
Thankfully, she shook her head. "My Dad has some here, upstairs," she half- moaned. "In the bathroom off the master bedroom."  
  
I nodded, remembering where she meant from a previous visit, but I was unwilling to leave her alone. Buffy still weighed nearly nothing and I scooped her into my arms. She squealed in both surprise and protest, asking me to grab her purse from the banister.  
  
Upstairs I led her into the master suite, taking note of the candles placed strategically through the room. I carried her into the bathroom, kissing her temple as I sat her in a small arm chair in the mini-spa. As I filled the tub I set aside bubble mix and an aroma meant to heal and soothe. What the bath didn't heal, I would bandage for her and her own Slayer abilities would finish.  
  
"I need the gauze, not a whole bath, Angel," she told me. I ignored her, setting candles out and removing her toiletries from the shelves (half- empty, waiting for my things) to lay them within arm's reach.  
  
Gently I removed her shirt, prepared fro her lack of undergarments (a bra would have scraped at her scar). Cautiously I removed her bandages to reveal two scars. I bit back my questions. We had a week. There would be time for that later. I helped her to stand, removing her jeans and panties. She must have removed her socks and shoes before I got there.  
  
For a minute I just looked at her. It had been a year since I'd seen her naked, and longer since I'd been able to touch her. Too long. Too long since I left her, too long since I turned back time. I noticed her squirming under my gaze and led her to the huge tub, picking up a soft cloth to wash her with.  
  
"You're beautiful," I whispered. "I forgot how much you shine."  
  
"I'm gross," she mumbled, gesturing to her scars. I shook my head, but put no voice to my argument. Her head rolled back towards the wall and her eyes fell shut. Her look of peace was slightly diminished by the pain still etched onto her features. "This wasn't how I planned this," she told me. "I wanted... it was supposed to be romantic. I didn't want you to be taking care of me."  
  
"I like to take care of you," I said, and it was rue. I liked seeing someone still needed me. Cordelia never had. Liked me, yes. Maybe she'd even loved me as she said, maybe I loved her, but my need for her couldn't compare with my need for Buffy.  
  
"I know, I just... wanted this time to be different," she whispered. "I wanted us to have a couple happy memories too."  
  
"We will, we do," or at least, I'd thought we did. Looking back at our pasts I realize that the week to follow would downplay even my fondest memories of her, even that day so many years ago...  
  
She didn't respond as I used the cloth to gently rinse the blood stains from her face and neck. When I got to her breasts, I paused. Her eyes remained closed but she smiled. I'm sure she was remembering every single time we'd been in similar positions since my return from Hell, each time we'd experimented with exactly how far "Perfect Happiness" was. Not that it had been an every day thing, but often enough so that I thought I could make her happy, if not entirely make love to her.  
  
Softly I resumed my light scrubbing. She mewled slightly, but all thoughts of pleasing her disappeared the second my cloth hit the first stab wound. Her mewl turned to a wince she tried to cover up. A silent tear trickled down the side of her face and I kissed it away, holding my anger in at whoever had dared to hurt her. "I need to clean it baby," I whispered.  
  
"Hurts, she grunted. I took the healing powder I'd sprinkled over the tub and sprinkled more onto the washcloth, returning my attention to her cuts. As gently as I could I ran soft circles over her chest and stomach. She cried out when I hit certain places. I didn't stop. I cleaned her legs, and toes, taking time to suckle at each of them. She giggled and the sound was welcome to my ears.  
  
I washed back up the insides of her legs, when I came to juncture. Cuts marred her core, bruised and still bleeding a little. She tried to tug me up higher, away from the injuries but it was too late. "Who?" I choked. She shook her head.  
  
"Doesn't matter," she groaned in pain, shifting her legs. I softly eased them apart and moved the cloth to soothe what I could, prepared to ask again, if need be. "He's dust now, Faith dusted him."  
  
"Spike?" I asked. Faith had let something slip on the phone about a past relationship between the two blonds, and a near rape incident. My blood boiled at the thought of Buffy willingly in the other vampire's arms, but that was nothing compared to her being there unwillingly.  
  
"Riley," she whispered. "He was killed... Tarquin... they turned him."  
  
Taking that in I finished administering her bath and placed her in a fuzzy robe hanging from the door. "You should eat," I told her.  
  
"You cooking?" I nodded, and she walked down to the kitchen with him. As I was cooking she explained Sunnydale's recent occurings to me: the First, Spike's soul, Willow's bout with evil, 2 spells Willow had found. "She already did one, it's basically a variation of a protection spell. You put it over a certain area and the sun isn't an issue for vamps. She did it on the garden here."  
  
I nearly dropped the frying pan. I'd known spells could do that, but I'd never imagined I would experience one. "And then the other one... she's been looking for years to fix your soul, but it never worked. And then she found a way. It's not permanent, and it takes too much out of her to do often, but, we have a week... if you want to stay."  
  
Then I really did drop the pan, eggs splattering through the kitchen. Buffy laughed at my shocked expression. "Is that a yes? 'Cause I'm supposed to call Willow and tell her when to start it," she smiled. I growled and clutched her to me, kissing her lips for the first time since I'd arrived. She yelped when I held her too tightly and I let her go.  
  
"Maybe in a few days, when you're healed," I said quietly. She nodded and I attempted to clean our breakfast (I would eat some too, even if I couldn't taste it.)  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
In the end, neither of us was particularly necessary in the battles, and we were both given a month off. It was nearly 2 weeks before Buffy was healed enough for the pursuit of happiness. By then Willow had managed to elongate the spell up to 2 weeks.  
  
The first weeks consisted of a lot of talking. I confessed to my sins with Darla, Connor, my near relationship with Cordelia, her relationship with Connor, Jasmine. Fred had disenchanted us by then and I was rightfully ashamed, but I heard Connor and Gunn had fought while Wesley enlisted Willow's help once more in banishing her to her own dimension. I left Gunn in charge until I returned.  
  
Buffy admitted she'd 'been' with Spike for almost 4 months, that he had tried to rape her, but he'd then gone in search of his own soul. While she fought her best friend. She told me of 'the Trio' who'd had her poisoned, convinced her to try and kill her friends.  
  
I'd also confessed that when I sketched it was still her, whether I intended it to be or not. She told me most nights she'd write about the First in her journal, but more often than not her musings turned to be about 'A' which 'doesn't even stand for Angel for that matter it stand for Asmond, a charming foreign exchange student.'  
  
We watched out first sundown together and waited to see it rise the same morning. She was tucked to my side, her head resting on my chest. I held her as tightly as I could without wounding her further, the way I would hold her every night those weeks.  
  
"This is almost perfect," she whispered, as if she were afraid to break the stillness. We both knew what she meant: it was as close to perfect as we would come before Willow did the spell. I couldn't be perfectly happy knowing she was hurt, knowing how and by whom and it still hurt her.  
  
And although she was allowed, she could not be perfectly happy if I wasn't. Still those moments were in my positive column, and rather high up.  
  
"Mmm," I agreed and she rolled onto me. We shared an emotional kiss until she had to come up for air. She rested her head on my shoulder and reached for her wine glass. "Careful," I murmured. She'd spilled on me only moments before. She flashed me a mischievous grin and sat up, away from me. I followed her up and rested my head on her shoulder.  
  
I fed her a brownie I'd made earlier. I'd added herbs that were supposed to heal to every thing I cooked, strung some around the cabin, lit candles with the same purpose. I knew she'd physically healed a good deal, but mentally, emotionally, I could tell she was still scarred.  
  
"I love you," her voice cut through my thoughts. "I do. And you've been so patient with me and I know I'll be ready soon, but right now I just.." she trailed off and tears made her eyes gleam. "For 2 years every... sexual encounter I've had has been really violent and I know you would never hurt me, but... I'm still scared."  
  
I hoped Faith had tortured Finn before she offed him. I hoped Spike's soul howled in torment, begged him to end his unlife every second of the day and night. I hoped they suffered endlessly for hurting my love. But I didn't voice my hopes. I kissed her instead. "As long as you need. I'll be here as long as you want me."  
  
She looked at me and shook her head. "I need you all the time. I want you all the time," her words broke as the tears streamed down her face.  
  
"We have a way now," I reminded her. "Maybe we'll never be the Brady Bunch, but we stand a chance. If we can keep in touch, we can meet here every once in awhile and..."  
  
"What if she dies?" Buffy interrupted. It was then that I realized how jaded she'd become. Ice had frozen around her heart and it was up to me to unfreeze her again. She had to believe in happy endings because weren't they what she fought for?  
  
"We can ask her to teach us, or she can find a way to make it permanent," I stroked her back lightly. "Or both."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Shhh, love, maybe we just need to stop thinking with our heads," I smiled softly at her. She sniffled.  
  
"It's just, I can't lose you," she whispered, grasping my hand tightly.  
  
"You won't," I kissed her cheek, licking at the skin. She giggled and whacked at my arm. "Seriously. I know I've made a lot of promises that I haven't kept, but I'm never going to let you fight alone. If you ever need anything..."  
  
"I'll call," she nodded. "Even if..."  
  
"We're not together," my heart broke saying the words that had to be said.  
  
"But we will be," she finished and I gathered her in my arms once more.  
  
This time she shyly initiated the kiss, leaning into it as she arranged herself on my lap. "Since when do you know who the Brady Bunch were?"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Eventually our passionate kisses and groping sessions had to become more. It was inevitable. On Sunday of the third week we called Willow and the spell was done, set to end when a certain candle we lit together went out. Willow had been working on it and she was unsure of exactly when it would end. Buffy and I both promised to watch carefully after the first week.  
  
That initial week all we watched was each other. She had healed stunningly so that the beautiful skin that had been so horribly destroyed now had few cuts anywhere. After over 5 years of near complete deprivation I wanted to worship that body a thousand times over, to soothe and heal her as she insisted only I could.  
  
She desperately needed worshipping too. Spike, unlike the demon who had so brutally raped and tortured her (can't say Riley 'cause she needs to believe it wasn't really him and vampires are all bad body stealing demons), had loved Buffy, I knew. I'd seen him at the funeral. He had, in his way, treated her as if she were royalty. But his was summoned around Drusilla, who could be more sadistic towards herself than any victim.  
  
Buffy was not Drusilla. She was not Spike's dark princess as Dru had been. She was Buffy, my sun goddess, my light. And she deserved to be treated as such.  
  
I was as gentle, loving and slow as a starved man could be. And there were only a few moments as I loomed over her that her eyes showed any fear (I had been watching). I whispered to her how much she meant to me, how much I loved her, and she eventually calmed down.  
  
The master suite was more than capable of holding us for two weeks, except that it lacked a kitchen. We spent a lot of time in bed, but there was also a living area, a porch, a hot tub, even a very small study. For once I was thankful Hank Summers was a womanizer, instead of angry about it. The quality that had hurt his daughter so many times had also given us those few weeks of perfection, in the form of our beautiful cabin.  
  
One morning I woke to see Buffy at our small desk, typing away on her laptop. I knew Buffy was once an avid writer, before slaying started to take over her life. Apparently her muse had been struck once more. Rising, I kissed her cheek and went to shower.  
  
When I came out she was printing a document with a proud smile on her face. "I did it," she cheered. "I wrote a whole chapter."  
  
I laughed and picked her up and swung her around in my arms, kissing her.  
  
It's been 3 weeks since that morning and 2 since we returned to our homes. Cordelia was awake by the time I got back to L.A., but I wasn't as affected as I thought I'd be. Buffy and I have talked every night since we went our separate ways. Everyone in my family (including Cordelia) has accepted that I refuse to get lost this time. I won't let anyone separate me from my love.  
  
Connor and Cordelia are together again, but I've accepted it now. She's a little old for him, but my girlfriend's like 243 years younger than me, so I'm not really one to talk, am I?  
  
The door opens and I sigh, preparing to face whatever sob story this client has when my love comes into the room. "I couldn't tell you over the phone," she whispers.  
  
Oh God, she's going to leave me. She can't leave me. I won't let her go.  
  
"I'm pregnant."  
  
~END~  
  
Okay, in case there's confusion, I switched tenses because the beginning was a memory, and the ending is present day. Okay? Kewl! 


End file.
